


Long Live | Peter Pevensie [2]

by Slightly_Obsessive



Series: A Place To Call Home [2]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Fantasy, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2019-07-16 12:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slightly_Obsessive/pseuds/Slightly_Obsessive
Summary: For almost two years, Maria has done everything in her power to leave him behind, to forget him, to create a life without him. She works for a kind Elite on an estate far from the lake of her childhood. And just as she is given a real chance to move on, Maria is washed up on the beach once more.Now, with Narnia under Telmarine rule and her family long gone, Maria is forced to choose where her loyalties lie; with the true heir to the Narnian throne, or with the High King who she thought she would never see again. Suddenly risking her life for her beloved country isn’t the hardest thing she has to do.





	1. Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> • Ages implied by the films will be used for the benefit of the romantic side plot and character maturity levels.
> 
> • Elements from both the film and book will be incorporated as a base for this fanfiction.
> 
> • This fanfiction is purely for entertainment value, to improve writing style in the fantasy genre and descriptive technique.
> 
> • I created Maria/Nimueh in order to explore the emotional impact that journeys to and from Narnia can have on a person, as I have seen posts exploring how the Pevensies would have felt upon returning to England, and wanted to go into more depth.
> 
> • Maria Poplawski is pronounced MAR-ree-yuh (as opposed to the more common pronunciation Mar-REE-ah) Con-stan-tee-NOH-vuh.
> 
> • Nimueh Firesong is pronounced Nim-way Fire-song.
> 
> • The Chronicles of Narnia Series is owned by C.S.Lewis. I own nothing, except Maria/Nimueh and other characters that do not appear in the novels.

Peter walked slowly over to the chest, behind which stood a stone statue of the man he used to be. Lifting the lid of the chest, he saw memories of a life that seemed so far away; chainmail, over shirts, and of course, his gifts from Father Christmas. He freed the sword from its sheath, gazing upon the writing engraved into the blade. His mind turned back to the time he’d saved Susan and Lucy from the White Witch’s wolves, how he became a knight of Narnia; he had gone into battle alongside warriors and friends, and it had served him well before and during his reign as High King of Narnia.

            “How long do you suppose we’ve been gone?”

            “I don’t know.” Lucy looked solemn. “But I have the most horrible feeling that everyone we knew when we lived here, Mr Tumnus, the Beavers,” she hesitated, as though she was going to say something else, but thought better of it. “I get the feeling that they’re all gone.”

            “I can’t find my horn,” said Susan, pulling out dresses and jewels from her chest.

            “You lost the enchanted horn?” Peter sounded alarmed.

            “I must have left in on the saddle of my horse that day we accidently went back through the wardrobe,” Susan shrugged.

            “That’s going to be a pain if we’re ever in need of any help. Who knows what happened here, and who we might be facing when we find out what’s going on.”

            “Thanks Edmund, great help,” Susan said, flatly.

            Peter smiled at his siblings’ antics, sifting through his chest to find something more appropriate to wear than a damp school uniform. He pulled out a shirt that would probably fit him, but with it, something fell from the chest and clattered onto the floor at his feet. Looking down, he saw what had fallen and immediately tossed the shirt aside.

            Two curved blades, tied together, sheathed in black leather; the hilts were silver, grips wrapped in the same material. Not a speck of rust contaminated them. Looking back to the chest, he saw nestled a large ebony-wood bow and a few arrows. He bit the inside of his bottom lip.

            “Peter, are you alright?” Lucy placed a hand on her brother’s shoulder.

            “Do you think she stayed,” he asked after a long pause. “And helped ruled in our place?”

            “No.” They all looked at Edmund. “She was too proud to put her weapons with yours. Somebody must have put them there, knowing that’s how you’d want it.”

            “Do you think she’s…”

            “Peter, it seems impossible for her to be-”

            “There’s no way of knowing what happened to her.” Edmund cut Susan off. “At least, not until we find out what’s happening now and why we were dragged off the platform.”

            “I suppose you’re right.”

            Lucy let out a light laugh, smiling fondly. “She gave this to me on my eighteenth birthday,” she said, holding up a broach with the multicoloured jewels arranged in the shape of a lion’s head. Peter tried to smile, though something about the air in Narnia felt so wrong and unfamiliar that even the best of his memories seemed distorted.

            Edmund, sensing his brother’s discomfort, cleared his throat. “Let’s get out there and see if there is anyone who can explain the situation.”

            The girls went to change amongst a thick patch of the orchard above ground. Peter lingered behind, unsure as to what to do with the weapons. They felt more like sacred artefacts now, which deserved to be on display rather than hidden away in a dark oaken chest. He moved behind the chest to the statue of his older self; placing the arrows so that they would sit in the arms, he slung the bow over the shoulders and across the chest. It looked clumsy, but it made the sadness feel a little more dignified. This was a lot less than she deserved, but it was something. The blade he clutched in his hand, with no intention of letting them go.

            “We miss her too, Pete. But I’m sure she’d want us move on, not live in the past. You were alright back in England.”

            “But this is Narnia, isn’t it?” Peter sighed. “Never mind. It doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

            Edmund tried to smile, slapping him on the back. “Get changed, then we’ll find out what’s going on.”

♚

Maria finished lacing up the back of the young girl’s silk gown, sweeping her white-blonde hair behind her shoulders.

            “Is that tight enough for you, Lady Aliona?” she spoke softly.

            “Yes, thank you.”

            Maria stepped back, and pulled at the long sleeves of her uniform. The windows were open, but the room was still hot and the veil that covered her hair and face was stifling. But even on days like this, she counted herself exceptionally lucky to have been put under the employment of an Elite as kind as Aliona. She had her own house in the servants’ quarters just inside the walls of the family estate. Her life was comfortable.

            “Is there anything else you would like before dinner, my Lady?”

            “Yes.” The blond twisted her head to face Maria, displaying a curious grin. “I’d like to talk to you.”

            “About what, my Lady?”

            “About anything. About you. About your life. What kind of things do you like?”

            “I don’t think that would be proper, my Lady.”

            “It’ll be okay.” The girl collapsed onto a lilac and gold chaise longue. “I never get to talk about anything interesting anymore, just adult politics.” Maria was hesitant, but eventually came to perch on the edge of the chair, a fair distance from the Elite. Giggling, Aliona moved closer to her. “I don’t bite.”

            “I suppose it won’t do either of us much harm.”

            “Great. So, what’s your name?”

            “What?”

            “I want to know your name, so I know what to call you.”

            “Oh, erm, it’s Maria Konstantinova.”

            “Konstantinova…as in…” Aliona was clearly hesitant to continue.

            “Yes,” Maria said quietly.

            “Oh, sorry.” Maria shook her head. “Maria…that’s pretty. And how old are you?”

            “I will be eighteen in six weeks.” For all the years that she had lived, Maria was surprised that she could recall her physical age.

            “Wow! I’ve never had a handmaiden so young before. I bet you’re really beautiful.”

            “Oh no, my Lady. You are quite mistaken in that.”

            “Can I not judge that for myself?”

            Maria sprang up from her seat, and hurried a little way across the room. “I could lose my job.”

            “Oh, come on. Please?” Aliona whined. “No one has to know. I just want to know what you look like. It feels so impersonal, and kind of scary, walking around my own house with so many faceless people.”

            All Elites are good liars; Maria had seen her fair share. But Lady Aliona showed no signs of manipulation. Young Elites were always taught to act like adults, especially because of how early they married. It was so easy to forget that Aliona was still a child, a girl of merely thirteen, and it was easy for Maria to forget that she had once been a child too. She moved slowly back across the room, treading carefully over to the chaise longue.

            “Alright, but just for a second. And only because you asked.” Turning her body to face Aliona, she placed her hands in her lap and waited with her eyes closed.

            She felt a light tugging on the veil. The breeze from the window brushed her cheeks as the material was lifted. Maria couldn’t help but screw up her eyes even tighter, wrinkling her nose, flinching away from whatever expression Aliona had on her face. The girl laid the veil over the back of her head.

            “You can open your eyes if you want. I don’t mind.”

            Maria tried her best to relax her face. When she first let her eyelids lift, she kept her gaze on the floor. Everything was brighter without the veil, and it felt rude enough to look up at Aliona’s shining, white face without first being invited. Then a feeling flushed through her, a feeling she hadn’t felt in a few years. It was the feeling she got when she stood before an enemy, when she was faced with death and would welcome it with swords in hand. Flashing her eyes up to meet Aliona’s with a hard stare, she breathed in deeply. The girl drew back.

            “I’m sorry,” Maria shook off the feeling, suddenly afraid she might have frightened the child. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look at you like that. I just had to force myself…”

            “No, it’s okay. I know it’s hard. I suppose we Elites haven’t treated you particularly well.”

            “Don’t go saying things like that. Someone might hear you.”

            Aliona smiled, shaking her head. “You’re eyes…”

            “Hideous, aren’t they?” Maria closed them quickly.

            “No! No, I’ve just never seen eyes that colour.”

            “It’s not uncommon,” Maria said, opening them up so that Aliona could get a better look. “I suppose you don’t see many faces of the People.”

            “Actually, yours is the first. And if I may say, I don’t see anything wrong with it. You look just like an Elite.”

            “If you may? You’re starting to sound like one of the People!”

            Instead of responding, Aliona took Maria’s left hand from her lap. “You aren’t married?”

            Maria’s heart gave a painful squeeze, her mind on the ring strung on the cord under her dress. Forcing the words out hurt, because she knew that they weren’t a lie. “I almost was, a couple of years ago.”

            “What happened? Did something happen to them?”

            “I lost him. We were from two different worlds. It seems stupid now, thinking that we could ever have been together.” Maria knew she would regret her next words, but it seemed like it was time to stop lingering in the past, and she hoped that this could buy her a happier future. “But I’ve moved on. I need to get married, and soon, otherwise I’ll be alone forever.”

            Aliona’s face lit up, for she didn’t know of Maria’s true pain. “There is a boy of sixteen who works in the kitchens. We can go and meet him after dinner if you like. Or if you prefer, there is the woman who delivers our flowers twice a week, and I don’t think she’s that much older than you.”

            “That would be nice. Thank you very much for doing this. And, if you don’t mind, I would like to cover my face again.”

            “Yes, of course. I’m going to go down to the dining room, so I’ll meet you back up here in a couple of hours.”

            “Alright. Have a lovely time, my Lady.” Maria slipped right back into her place as the veil fell, and she was faceless once more. A few moments after Aliona had left the room, she got up and made her way down the hall to the servants’ bathroom.

            Wanting to look her best for her potential suitors, she decided to run herself a bath. Leaving the taps running, she removed the veil and her long-sleeved overdress and hung them up on the back of the door. The underdress, made of a shiny, blue material, was more like something she would wear in the town and back at the orphanage. It was lighter and far more comfortable. But looking like she did, the Elites wanted to cover as much of her up as possible.

            Maria walked over to the mirror, pulling out the black cord with the ring and the Firesong emblem on it. Holding them in her fist, the way she had when she had returned to the Island, she stared at her own reflection. “I’m sorry. I waited. But I know you wouldn’t want me to go on being unhappy.”

            But before she could take it off, something touched her feet.

            Twisting in alarm, she saw that the bath was overflowing. Maria was positive that she hadn’t left the taps on long enough to fill even half of the bath, and yet water was gushing onto the bathroom floor. She groped at the taps, turning them as far as she could in each direction, but the water just kept coming. Sloshing through the now ankle-deep water, Maria wrenched the door handle, her feet slipping from underneath her and she landed on her back. Her dress and hair quickly became soaked, weighing her down. She managed to pull herself into a sitting position, slightly winded, and tried again to open the door. The water was rising at an increasing rate, slamming violently into the wall.

            The water spilling from the bath was now far colder and sparkled a bright white on the surface. Maria was almost certain of where the water would take her; the place it always had. The sad thing was that she hoped that she was wrong. And she could no longer fight back. The water clung to her dress, so that, even when she hauled herself to her feet, there was no way that she could wade over to the window in time.

            As the water rose to her knees, Maria wondered how long it have been this time. Perhaps, in her resistance, a couple of days had passed. She took one last agonizing yank at the door handle, only now finding her voice to cry out for help. For a moment, she didn’t care if the damages cost her the job. She couldn’t go back. She _wouldn’t_ go back. Not after all she had suffered, and what suffering she would face once she arrived. After all, what was her use in Narnia if there was no war?

            As the water reached her waist, she thought it seemed to not only be rooting her to the spot, but was dragging her down by her heavy clothes.

            As the water covered her chest, she couldn’t stand the wait any longer. Taking a huge breath, Maria ducked below the surface. She closed her eyes and clamped her hands over her mouth. Her hair lifted with the choppy current of the water, swirling around her head and tickling her neck and shoulders. Bubbles blew out of her nose at the sensation, losing her valuable air.

            Within seconds Maria had almost run out of breath. She opened her eyes and, with her remaining strength, kicked off the floor, hoping that the ceiling was gone. The white light had gotten brighter and, when she finally broke through the surface of the water, she found herself a little way out from a beach, the sea calm, the sun blazing. Glancing up at the cliffs by the shore, Maria frowned, squinting a little in the sudden brightness. Instead of the great castle of Cair Paravel that she expected, she saw ruins. Exactly how long had she been gone?

            Kicking hard to keep her dress from dragging her down again, she swam ashore. As the water become shallower, and she was able to stand up, she waded onto the sand. Her bare feet sunk into it, making her lose her balance and she almost fell on her face. Rolling onto her back, she lay still for a long time, until her breathing slowed.

            Why did Narnia need her now? The eternal winter hadn’t returned. Was there something more that she had to learn? Perhaps it was something to do with the ruins of the castle up on the cliff.

            Getting to her feet, Maria picked up the front of her skirts and followed the path that led from the beach up to where Cair Paravel once stood. In the heat of the sun, her dress soon dried and resumed its usual light, floaty state, and she could brush the sand from her skin. Maria wasn’t sure what she would find when she reached the ruins, but it wouldn’t be good. Narnia held an eerie silence, suffering a different sort of sickness. A fever, suffocating anything that felt remotely familiar.


	2. What Remains

Looking around her, Maria found herself in a large orchard. Figuring the apples were safe to eat, she pulled one down and began pushing through the tree branches to where she thought the ruins would be. As she walked, Maria pulled out the pins that bound her hair in a soaked bun at the base of her skull, uncurling it into a long braid.

            The first thing resembling the castle that she came across was the remains of a stone wall, standing only as high as her knee. Hitching up her skirts, Maria stepped over and followed it to where the trees thinned and she came to a corner. When she looked up, her heart almost broke.

            No matter how little was left of the castle, the view could never change. The clear blue of the ocean, the horizon where it bled into the sky, those were the things that never ceased to take her breath away. Those were the things that she didn’t realize she had missed until tears prickles her eyes. For a moment, she could forget that the castle no longer existed around her, that she had ever been away, that she stood alone as she stared over the Eastern Sea.

            Maria pulled her hair out of the braid and let the soft breeze rustle through it. She breathed in the salty scent that carried from the water, even smiled to find something familiar to cling to. As her damp curls brushed over her bare shoulders, she thought back to the first time she had taken in this view. That day, she had been given the greatest gift she could ever ask for; the chance to be anything that she wanted to be, with no chains binding her to the whims of society. Her eyes filled until the sea and the sky became a blur of blue. She tossed the core of her apple over the edge of the cliff, catching the tears that escaped as she blinked with her fingertips.

            Turning, Maria was met with a sight that she immediately recognized as the Great Hall. She was stood at the back of the dais where a great stained-glass window used to be. The base of each throne remained, but little more. With every step, Maria feared the remnants would crumble around her. Slipping to the floor, she sat between what had once been Peter and Susan’s thrones.

            She swallowed the lump in her throat and wiped stray tears from her cheeks. “Why did you leave?” she whispered in despair.

            The walls she had built the contain everything that she’d been feeling for the past two years just seemed to fall away. Curling her hand into a fist around the charms strung on her cord necklace, Maria rested her forearm on the base of the High King’s throne, and wept.

            Loud, violent cries escaped her quivering form. Never had she felt so small, so alone. On the Island, she had Aliona, a job, and a chance to be married. Here, she had nothing. She no one. The world she had known was gone, the castle – her home – only a memory.

            Even though she was sure no one was around to hear her, Maria felt foolish crying over something she had lost almost two years ago, and if she made much more noise, she could attract unwanted attention. Forcing her sobs back down her throat, the tears began to subside. She sniffed deeply and wiped her cheeks again, getting shakily to her feet.

            As she walked down from the dais, Maria noticed some chipped wood scattered across the slabs to her right. Heart pounding, she hurried down the steps and around a curved wall. Hidden behind it was a gaping hole where a door had once been, bits of it scattered on the floor along with the ivy that had grown to surrounded the doorway. The door itself, whilst not completely destroyed, barely hung by its hinges inside the hole.

            The thought of someone having broken into the royal treasure chamber could have brought the tears flooding back, but something odd on the floor made Maria frown. It was a large stick with something white wrapped around one end. Picking it up, she saw that it was a torn piece of material. She assumed that could have been used in an attempt to make a torch, and quite recently too.

            Maria resolved to going down to the chamber herself to inspect the damage. She had been down a few times before, but only with their Majesties permission. It didn’t take her long to find a few flint stones in the earth around the ruins, and striking them a few times over the material and some vines that she had wrapped over it for extra fuel, sparks flew and soon she had a makeshift torch.

            Treading carefully down each of the sixteen steps, her bare feet providing little grip on the grainy stone, Maria held the torch low to light the tunnel ahead of her. At the bottom of the staircase was a gate, left slightly ajar. Her heart squeezed, fearing the worst.

            Yet as soon as she pushed through the gate, she was able to breath again. It seemed as though everything had been as it was, however many years ago. Chests overflowing with gold and jewels looked untouched, though the thin layer of sand that layered the floor of the chamber showed a path between the piles on either side. The torch threw an eerie light on the treasure, which glowed in the flame. Looking around for a sconce to place the torch into, Maria, once again, had to catch her breath at the sight before her.

            At the back of the chamber were four chests, and behind those chests stood a stone statue of each of the Kings and Queens that the Pevensies had grown into. One in particular caught her attention. High King Peter’s statue had a bow sling over it, and a few arrows wedged oddly between that and the statue itself. After a moment, Maria realized that the weapons were hers and, hurrying forwards, she slid the flaming stick into a sconce in the middle of the back wall, but stopped abruptly in front of the oaken chest.

            It feel wrong, intrusive, to slip behind it and take the bow and arrows from the statue, even though they belonged to her. Her fingers tingled as she curled her around the wood of the bow, lifting it over Peter’s stone form, catching the arrows before they could clatter to the ground. If these were here, her blades and some of her clothes had to be somewhere around the chamber.

            She spotted her quiver nestled in the shadows to the left of the great chests, along with a large trunk that used to sit at the base of her bed. She placed the arrows into the quiver, and set those and her bow to one side. Undoing several buckets on the trunk, a few of them cracking with rust, she rummaged through what appeared to be her old clothes. Maria found the leather armour and shirt she had worn during the Battle of Beruna at the very bottom of the trunk, and she smiled fondly, rubbing her fingers over the fabrics. They wouldn’t fit her any more.

            Picking out a thick, hard, red leather armoured top, with golden buckle straps across the front, to wear over an off-white, poet sleeved shirt, and a pair of tight, black trousers, Maria looked around for something to wear on her feet. Another trunk nearby contained several pairs of her old shoes. She took out some tall, brown leather boots, but still needed stockings.

            Maria felt highly uncomfortable going through the possessions of the Pevensies, even when they weren’t present; in fact, this made her feel even worse. She very carefully lifted the lid of Queen Susan’s chest, moved to clothes so daintily, wanting to disturb them as little as possible, and found a pair of stockings under a few dresses.

            And that’s when it finally dawned on her.

            At no point did Nimueh recall seeing the gifts that Father Christmas had given to three of the four Pevensies when they had first arrived in Narnia. Feeling a little further through Susan’s things, she felt nothing resembling a bow or quiver, though she expected them to be at the top of the chest. Hurrying over to Lucy’s chest, searching in and around it, she couldn’t find the dagger, nor the cordial.

            And then she thought of her own weapons placed on the statue of High King Peter. Who on Aslan’s name would have the guts to dress the likeness of a monarch in the possessions of a servant? Who but the man himself? His shield and sword were missing, but nothing of extreme financial value had been taken.

            Something rushed through her, a kind of giddiness that brought an involuntary smile to her face. What if the Kings and Queens were in Narnia as well? What if they had been called like she had been when the White Witch had cursed the country with an eternal winter? The thought was enough to make her want to cry all over again.

            Filled with a new hope, Maria scurried around, trying to find her other weapons, but to no avail. Though highly impractical, the loss of her blades wasn’t enough to dampen her spirits straight away.

            She could be Nimueh Firesong once again, someone she had longed to be for what felt like hundreds of years. She would find who needed her help, and she would find her friends once more.


	3. Paradise Lost

Nimueh knew of the three Ancient Places of Narnia. The dryads of Firesong had told her the origin stories of each, and whenever she had been called to the country, her help had always needed at one of the three.

            Cair Paravel was one of those Places. Leaving it would be hard, but there was nothing left for her there. Nothing but heartbreak and memories of a life she could never get back. The only thing for her to do was to travel to the next Place and hope she could find her purpose once more.

            Slinging the bow and quiver across her chest, Nimueh headed away from the cliff side of the castle and down to where a beach had formed at the very edge of the forest. Across a wide channel was another beach and a forest on what she presumed to be the mainland of Narnia. Fixing her clothes to her quiver by the sleeves of her blouse and curling her hair back up into a bun, Nimueh waded into the water, bracing herself against the current. The water was warm, pleasant even, but she could only focus on keeping her clothes above the surface.

            It was struggle. Every few minutes, a wave of water would push her further towards the open sea, and whilst fighting to keep her back up, it took her far longer to get across the channel. As she dragged herself out of the water and into the trees, she held her breath and listened. The breeze rustled the tops of the tree, but nothing else seemed to be alive. And that scared her.

            Nimueh slipped the dress from her shoulders. She hung it over a tree branch and untied her clothes from her quiver. Once dressed, she bound her leather armour as tight as she could and laced up her boots. Intent on using her dress as an additional blanket, she wrapped it in rope, looped it across her chest and put on her cloak.

            She would head south west towards the Stone Table, the next of the Ancient Places in Narnia. It was the most sacred of them all and she got the feeling that _there_ would be those who had called upon her. Unfortunately, she would have to travel all the way to Beruna in order to cross the river safely, and loop back east to where the Stone Table hopefully still stood.

            The first few hours of the journey, Nimueh spent with an arrow on her string, her shoulders tense. As great a warrior as her reputation gave her credit for, she felt naked and a little helpless without her blades. Her archery had never been particularly strong and she hated that she was having to rely on it to keep her alive, especially when she had no idea what was going on.

♚

The sight of Beruna made Nimueh feel sick. Hundreds upon hundreds of men traipsed across the gravel, chopping and carrying wood across the pebbled shores. Sweat staining their clothes and brows, the red sunset painting them in a devilish light. There were soldiers too, in blue and black armour, the likes of which Nimueh had never seen before. She kept deep within the shadows of the trees, and waited.

            As the sky grew increasingly dark, the workmen and soldiers started to retreat into the wooden carriages, and Nimueh shifted closer to the edge of the trees. When a particularly frail-looking man came a little too close to where she was hidden, she took hold of the back of his shirt and wrenched him into the trees. Pulling up her hood and loading her bow, Nimueh aimed the arrow right between his eyes and slowly shook her head. The man shuffled further and further backwards, too frightened to even breathe. Nimueh glanced over her shoulder. There were men staring into the forest, but none of them ventured in. Exchanging a few nervous looks, they hurried away and scrambled into the carriages.

            Nimueh didn’t move until all of the carriages within earshot had rolled away. The man, whose face was half hidden in shadow, was shaking. When she stepped forwards, he let out a small cry and backed into a tree.

            “Answer my questions, and I’ll let you go,” Nimueh whispered, deeply.

            “What do you want?” His voice is high and rasping, but the twang of his accent was unmistakable.

            “Telmarine,” said Nimueh, more to herself than to the man. “What are you doing in Narnia? Slave trade?”

            “I live here. We live here. We have done for three hundred years.”

            “And destroyed the castle?” Nimueh tensed her arm, the arrow dangerously ready to fly. “Cair Paravel on the Eastern Sea, did you destroy it?”

            “We might have done, I don’t know. It was years ago!” Even in the low light, she could see that the man had begun to cry.

            “Tell me everything,” she growled.

            “Everything?” But when Nimueh dropped the bow, crouched, and held the tip of the arrow against his throat, he began spluttering. “Er…Caspian, Caspian the First, he came into this country and became King.”

            “What about the creature who lived here? What about the Narnians?”

            “What Narnians?”

            “The fauns, satyrs, the centaurs, what happened to them?”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

            “The people who lived here before you _invaded!_ ” Nimueh could have screamed.

            “I didn’t…they never told us…” Panic-stricken, the man shook violently, the arrowhead making a shallow cut in his skin. “All I know is that the Prince has gone missing.”

            “The Prince?”

            “He used to be the heir to the throne, Prince Caspian, would have been Caspian the Tenth. The King’s wife had a son and on the same night, Caspian went missing.”

            “Caspian is not the King’s eldest son?”

            “No,” the man swallowed. “Caspian is the son of the last King, Caspian the Ninth. The King, Miraz, is his uncle, and he took up the throne soon after the last King died, because Prince Caspian was too young to be King.”

            Nimueh knew enough about politics to very quickly figure out what was going on. “So you Telmarines slaughter the Narnians, take over the country, and now you can’t even keep your monarchy together?” She hesitantly lowered the arrow and allowed the man to sit more comfortably. “You say it has been three hundred years since you invaded?” She didn’t have a hope of figuring out how long it had been since she left.

            “Is there anything else you want to know?” The man asked, though clearly more concerned with getting away from her than being helpful.

            “Miraz hasn’t killed Caspian yet?”

            “Why would he want to kill his nephew?”

            “Because,” Nimueh sighed, lightly tapping the Telmarine on the forehead with the arrow tip, “Miraz is going to want his own son to be King after him. Caspian is the true heir to the throne and, thus, in the way.”

            As the realization dawned on her hostage, Nimueh tried to piece the puzzle together. Something, and she didn’t know what, but something told her that this Caspian the Tenth, this usurped heir to the Narnian throne, and Telmarine though he may be, had called out for help. She didn’t know how, but he had brought her, and the four Kings and Queens, out of their worlds and back into this. No matter who this Caspian was, his family, their origins, the only way she had washed up on the shore of the Eastern Sea is if it was the will of Aslan himself. And Nimueh Firesong would be damned if she so much as thought of going against that.

            Without a doubt, the Telmarine would cry out to his people if she let him go, but she needed to leave, to get to the Stone Table, and if that failed, to Lantern Waste. Sternly instructing the man to stay put, Nimueh restrung the arrow onto her bow and crept back towards the edge of the trees.

            Many of the Telmarine soldiers and workmen had left the sight, but there were still a few stragglers, loading things into carts and onto horses. If she could just get across the framework of the bridge and pick up one of the horses on the other side of the river, it wouldn’t be difficult to escape the soldiers.

            “Who are you?” The Telmarine had appeared a little behind her.

            “Why are building that bridge?”

            “King’s orders,” he answered dismissively. “Are you a ghost?”

            Nimueh sniggered. “Sort of. Is that why you friends didn’t come in after you?”

            “No one goes near the forests. Full of ghosts, they tell us.”

            “Probably the souls of all the dryads you killed,” but in her bitterness, something even more horrifying occurred to her. Were their any survivors of the Firesong family? Would there still be the descendants of someone she had known alive, even in hiding?

            There was only one way time find out, and it starting with finding Caspian.

            Without so much as a word to the Telmarine, Nimueh bolted, bow raised, across the bank towards the river. Not flinching as the cry of her hostage rang out and the soldiers were alerted to her presence, she lifted her arrow to point at the soldier preparing the wade across the river from the other side, a few horses in tow.

            The river was several metres wide, a far larger distance than Nimueh was confident shooting over. Afraid she might hit the horses, she continued towards the unfinished bridge. Thankfully, with her lightness of foot, she could leap from one supporting beam to another without too much trouble. But many of the soldiers had found crossbows and were firing at her. Nimueh fired a few arrows back towards the shore she had left, with no confidence that they would find their targets.

            Her hood slipped from her head as she splashed down into the shallow waters of the other shore. The arrows stopped for a moment, giving her time to hurry behind a large pile of logs. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she slung her bow across her chest and gripped one arrow as she would a dagger. Nimueh left her hood down; it seemed the fact that she was a woman had caught the Telmarines off guard.

            Footsteps crunched unstably on the pebbles nearby, the crinkling and clinking of armour giving away the position of the soldier attempting to creep around the log pile. Nimueh didn’t even hesitate - the air of Narnia had been working on her, flooding her system – launching herself forwards and plunging the arrow into the leg of the soldier. He howled in pain and, clutching his leg, he fell to the ground.

            There was a saddled horse at the water’s edge a few metres away. It looked as though the saddle bag was full, and any resources would surely be useful in some way. Nimueh didn’t have time to properly befriend the animal, doubtless it wasn’t a talking horse, but she had a few times overheard the dryads’ soft whispers in a tongue that seemed to connect them to nature. It was a long shot, but it was her only chance.     

            Firing yet more arrows at the soldiers across the river, the shots stopped as Nimueh approached the horse; the Telmarines must have been stretched for resources if they’re unwilling to sacrifice one horse to kill a thief. She tried her best to mimic the voices of the dryads, and the horse turned it’s head towards her. Thinking this had worked, Nimueh touched its neck and it snapped back at her hand. She shook her head, dismissing the whisper idea, caught the horse’s reins in her hands, and hauled herself up onto the saddle. The horse didn’t take well to this, but as she tugged on the reins and squeezed its sides, it obeyed.

            The soldiers had begun to wade into the water, but she would be long gone before they could make it close enough to harm her with their swords. Kicking the horse forwards, they galloped into the trees, the horse clearly having missed the speech on the woods being full of ghosts.

            Nimueh lifted her head to the sky, praising Aslan for the miracle of being able to dodge every shot that had been fired her way. Her heart pounded with the thud of hooves on the forest floor. She had made it.


	4. Allegiance

If the Telmarine horse could smell that she was an enemy of the King, after half an hour of riding through woodland, it didn’t seem to mind. Nimueh kept to the edge of the forest, but well out of sight of anymore Telmarine soldiers. She rode for as long as the light allowed her to, long enough to get away from any unwanted attention.

            When Nimueh awoke from her rest, it was early morning. A heavy mist hung in the air, dampening the soil that she lay on. Hoping she didn’t have much further to travel, she packed away her skirt blankets, threw on her black cloak and mounted her horse. She rode for another couple of hours before she came to a large clearing.

            It opened up into a vast green field, a large mound reaching up into the clouded sky to her right. A pathway stuck out from the entrance and sloped upwards into the field, ending with a small courtyard with pillars in the four corners. There were two fauns, armed with bows, stationed out on a platform above the entrance. This had to be the place.

            As much as she was happy to be back where she belonged, back in her element, Nimueh found it immensely difficult to kick the horse out into the clearing. She pushed the horse into a trot, following a straight path and then circling round towards the courtyard opposite the entrance. Glancing up from beneath her hood at the two guards, as expected, she saw that they had placed their aim on her. She continued a slow approach, finally stopping in the courtyard.

            “Who are you?” one of the guards yelled down at her.

            “My name is Nimueh Firesong. I am here to assist in the repossession of the Narnian throne. Is this the home of the True King?” One of the fauns ducked out of sight, whilst the other’s weapon still tailed her. She dismounted and patted the horse on the neck. “If you aren’t going to let me go any further, could you at least water my horse?”

            The faun came down from the platform and lead the horse away, commanding her not to move before taking the horse out of sight. Nimueh flicked at her fingernails, a sudden sick feeling rising in her throat. How could she know if the Pevensies were here? What if something had happened to them along the way? If so, who could vouch for her?

            “You there!” a voice called out. She turned towards the tunnel. The first faun had returned, with two black dwarves and a centaur, each of them with a weapon pointed at her. They didn’t stop until they had her surrounded.

            “Hand over your weapons,” the centaur ordered, towering over her.

            “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

            “We can’t trust you.” The faun reached out.

            Nimueh armed her bow. “I wouldn’t,” she growled, pointing the tip of the arrow at his chest.

            The two dwarves lurched forwards, latching onto her lower arms. She refused to let go of her bow, even as they escorted her out of the daylight, into a touch-lit cavern, and the arrow flew off at an angle, fortunate not to hit anyone. “I have two legs,” she quipped. “I am perfectly capable of walking by myself.”

            “Quiet!” One of the dwarves tightened his grip on her arm. “If you give us any trouble, we’ll be forced to shoot you,” he said, with a malicious snarl.

            “Wait.” A young man, fully armoured, and armed with a sword, appeared from around the corner. “What’s going on?” His accent was similar to that of the soldier that Nimueh had interrogated the evening previous.

            “This women won’t relinquish her weapons, Sire.”

            The young man took a step or two towards her, and she turned her face into the light. “You? You are the Black Knight?” He seemed confused.

            Nimueh relaxed her grip in the bow, her gaze fixed on him. That was a name she hadn’t heard in a very long time. It was a thing of legend. “If you know who I am, you’ll know that if I wanted you kill you, I would have already done so.”

            “Did she attack you?” the young man addressed the guards.

            “No, but-”

            “Then release her. I believe she is an ally.”

            Nimueh yanked her arms free and slung the bow back across her chest with a sniff. “You are…Prince Caspian…the Tenth?”

            “That’s right. And you’re the Black Knight of legend.”

            “I am…though my full name is Nimueh of the family Firesong, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, Chief Strategist, and Lady of High King Peter’s Royal Court. I believe that I am supposed to help you.”

            “Come with me, Lady Firesong. We’ll talk somewhere more private.”

            Nimueh followed Caspian through the caverns, into dark tunnels, until they reached the largest cavern. She stared. As Caspian lit the room, the great Stone Table came into focus. She couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and touch it, running her fingertips over the rough stone.

            “This could never be destroyed,” she murmured.

            “How did you find us?”

            “When I was pulled from my world, I came up on the shores of the Eastern Sea, and to the ruins of Cair Paravel.” She didn’t look up from the table. “Whenever I am called into Narnia, it is in the service of the Aslan himself.”

            “You believe in Aslan?”

            Nimueh laughed, and Caspian seemed taken aback. “I’ve met him. Twice.”

            “Does that mean he is here?”

            “I’m afraid not. I am here in his service. I found you because this is one of the three Ancient Places in Narnia, the first being Cair Paravel, and the other being Lantern Waste. The question is, if Old Narnia has been driven into hiding, how do you know about me?”

            “My nurse and my professor, they told me stories about the creatures that lived here before the Telmarines invaded. Do you see that?” Nimueh followed Caspian’s gaze to the far left of the three archways around the broken table. “That’s you.”

            Behind the archway was a scene carved into the cavern wall. It depicted a woman, her face partially hidden beneath a hood, armed with two curved blades, one in each hand. A bow and quiver were slung over her shoulder. In the background was a castle on top of a cliff; Cair Paravel.

            “In the stories told amongst the Telmarines, you were painted as an evil witch who came to punish disobedient children in the night. It’s just an old wives tale they told to scare their children. But my professor told me that you’re a spiritual being tied to this land, bound to protect the King and his people. And then I saw this, and I knew that you were real.”

            She smiled at strange tales of her existence. “Well, I’m afraid I am not learned in magic, but I am pretty good in a fight.”

            “Is it true?” A voice came from the tunnel. “Is she here?” A large mouse, complete with a feathered cap and rapier, hopped swiftly into the carven, stopping a little way behind Nimueh, who was still looking at the engraving.

            “Reepicheep, let her be.”

            Nimueh finally turned to look at the mouse, closely followed by a badger, waddling on its hind legs. “And who might you be?” she said, soft and curious.

            “I am Reepicheep. I have heard many a tale of your valour. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Firesong.” He bowed low.

            “I’m sure the pleasure will be all mine.” She turned back to Caspian. “If you are the true heir the Narnian throne, and if you promise to give the Narnians back their kingdom and to be a good king-”

            “I do.”

            “Then I vow to do what I can to be of help to you.”

            “It is good to have your allegiance.”

            Nimueh suddenly felt uncomfortable. “You see, there is a limit to how much I can help you. Of course, I am here because Aslan wanted me to be. But he once had me swore my loyalty to the High King of Narnia and, as of yet, you are not…the High King. Thus I’m afraid I cannot completely swear my allegiance to you.”

            “Do you really think the Kings and Queens are coming?”

            “I do not doubt it, badger. Your Majesty, you must forgive me. However, until they arrive, I will do all that I can for you.”

            “There is no need to apologise. Your loyalty is admirable.”

            Nimueh bowed her head slightly, but frowned when she say the young Prince scratching his neck and letting out a deep sigh. “What is the matter, Your Majesty?”

            “I just…I don’t know if I am ready for this. Sure, I knew that I would have to been king someday, when my uncle dies, but I thought that would be years from now. I mean, the chances of us actually defeating Miraz are small as it is, but I haven’t even thought about what I will do if I make it to the throne.”

            Nimueh gave a small smile, walked slowly around the chamber, observing the other carvings on the walls. “I once knew a young man just like you. He carried such a burdening weight upon his shoulders, and he was so full of self-doubt. All he wanted to do was protect those that he loved the most.”

            “And what happened to him?” Caspian seemed uncertain, but Nimueh turned to him with a wider, reassuring smile.

            “He became the greatest king Narnia has ever known.” It was getting harder to smile now. “Please, do not be mistaken, Your Majesty. I am no saviour; I was not meant to save them, protect them, destroy what evil they could not. I am merely a servant of Aslan, with a sworn loyalty to fight alongside them. Do not think that this war is won now that I am here. I am just a soldier in the service of a King.”


	5. The Last Firesong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually finished writing this chapter whilst watching an episode of 'Merlin' called 'The Mark of Nimueh', which I thought was nicely ironic...Even though that Nimueh is evil...

“Our resources here are extremely limited, Your Majesty. We’re almost out of armour materials,” one of the blacksmith dwarves grumbled.

            Caspian turned to his professor. “Is there anywhere we can get more weapons, or at least the means to make more?”

            “When I passed through Beruna, there were men of the King building a bridge, and soldiers too. There are bound to be weapons there,” Nimueh said. “It isn’t far. Less than a day’s travel.”

            Caspian smiled gratefully. “I’ll go myself, and leave the army in your capable hands, Lady Firesong.”

            “Of course.” She bowed to him, tugging at her leather armour.

            Caspian left with Reepicheep, and a few other soldiers around midday, taking with the them provisions for the night. A few creatures were sent out to the surrounding woodland to forage for more food, as the supply would soon run dangerously low. Unable to really help with anything else, Nimueh decided to take herself away from the action, if only for a little while.

            After Aslan was killed on the Stone Table, even after he rose and came to battle, Nimueh could only bring herself to visit the scene a couple of times. She hadn’t thought too much about it when Caspian had brought her there upon arrival, but now that she was alone, her mind had scope to wander.

            Nimueh unconsciously fiddled with the pendant and the ring. Sweeping past her wall carving, she stopped in front of Aslan. She looked up into his stone-carved eyes, though they seemed to alive somehow.

            “My Lady?” Nimueh turned to see the badger, Trufflehunter, had entered the cavern. “Is everything alright?”

            “Yes,” she smiled. “I guess, being away for a while, it’ll take a little time to get used to being at war again.”

            “That symbol on your necklace, can I see it?” Trufflehunter came closer.

            Nimueh sat down on the base of the Stone Table, so that her eyes were level with the badger’s. Tilting her head back, she showed him the pendant resting on the back of her hand. “I’m wondering, after all these years, if any of my family might still be alive.”

            “The Firesong family, residents of Owlwood in the East.”

            “Yes.” And though the glow of the torches flickered in the creatures eyes, Nimueh saw them darken. “There aren’t any of us left, are there?”

            “I wish I could say you were wrong, my Lady.”

            Nimueh bowed her head as tears came to her eyes. They burned her cheeks and dripped off the bottom of her chin. She felt her heart sink so low, she was afraid it might disappear altogether. A deep sorrow seemed to bleed out into the air around her.

            “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

            “It’s alright.” Nimueh sniffed. “I suppose I should have known they would be gone someday, slaughtered by Telmarines or not.” She paused to wipe away the falling tears. “Did you know of them?”

            “I’m a beast,” said the badger. “We don’t forget. I have never met any members of the Firesong family until you, but they were famous enough amongst the Narnians of Old. The heads of family…Asher, Elijah, Yvaine-”

            “Yvaine became head of the family?” A laugh escaped her. “Such a curious little girl. It was Asher who took my under her wing the first few times that I came to Narnia, and then Elijah last time. They took care of me when I had no one. They taught me to take care of myself.”

            Trufflehunter briefly touched her hand with his paws. “I think they would be proud of you.”

            Nimueh nodded, thanking him, and he left her to her thoughts.

            She couldn’t smile. Not even at the thought of Aslan perhaps coming to help them again. She wanted to believe that they could beat the Telmarines, but Caspian’s army was too few, at least, to defeat what Nimueh could imagine to be the size of the King’s army. Even if the Kings and Queens of Old did return to help them, what good could they do?

            Nimueh couldn’t sit any longer. The last thing she needed at a time like this was to lose hope. She couldn’t think of her lost right now. As much as it pained her to think of it, the time to mourn was not now, but when this was all over.

♚

Peter knew that, though his initial assumptions of Caspian were, to say the least, less than positive, he couldn’t let that get in the way of his duty. He had walked a little behind him on the journey to Aslan’s how since the parties had collided at dawn, but the silence between them had lasted long enough.

            “In what kind of condition is your army?” Peter strode forwards to walk beside the Prince.

            “We’re certainly stronger than Miraz will be expecting.”

            “What about your soldiers? Do they have much experience?”

            “I’m afraid not, Sire,” Caspian sighed. “But they are all worthy fighters. I’ve left them in the charge of a great warrior, so I expect things will have improved by the time we get back.”

            “A great warrior?”

            “The Black Knight, your Highness. We’re lucky to have her on our side.”

            “The Black Knight?” Peter felt both his heart and stomach clench.

            “You don’t know? I thought she was one of yours. She said so herself.”

            “Peter, you don’t think…” Edmund mused from behind.

            “Did she tell you her name?” Peter asked firmly.

            “Yes, she claimed to be a servant at your court, a Lady Nimueh of the Firesong family.”

            She had been brought back to Narnia by Susan’s horn just as they had. Peter knew that he should be excited at the prospect of seeing her again, but his heart felt heavy. How long had she waited for them? Would she still be the same? Had she ever loved him? And if she had, did she still?

            “I knew she was called Black Knight at some point, I just never knew why.” Susan had appeared on Caspian’s other side, shattering Peter’s train of thought.

            “That’s what I’ve always known her as, even before I knew about Old Narnia. The Black Knight was just a Telmarine legend that dates back to early Narnian times, not long after this world began. The legend was supposed to have resurfaced when the Telmarines first invaded Narnia, her homeland. They have made up stories about her to keep their children in line. They say she’ll come to them in the night and cut out their tongues if they talk back to their parents, or cut off their hands if they steal something. She found the tales quite amusing actually.”

            “It is very lucky that my horn worked on her too, isn’t it Peter?” Susan smirked

            Peter touched the handle of the blades, the ones that belonged to _her_. He smiled. “Yes, Sue. Yes, it is.”


	6. Reunited

The sounds of the centaurs’ horns sailed through the caves of the hollowed out mound, and up into the air around it. Furry ears pricked up, heads rose, eyes widened. Nimueh almost dropped the broadsword she had been attempted to spar with in a clearing behind the how, and the faun opposite her almost clipped her arm. She shook her head as he apologised profusely, though she didn’t turn her head away from the sound.

            Nimueh instructed the archers and swordsmen to keep practicing, stabbing the weighted sword into the ground. She couldn’t even find it inside to scold herself for instinctively straightening her clothes. She adjusted the braids and loose curls in her hair, though without hope of it looking remotely tidy.

            Then she changed her mind. She had spent so long waiting for this moment, but now that it had arrived, she felt entirely too unprepared. Her insides tightened like nothing she had ever felt before. It wasn’t quite fear, but it was far from excitement. Rubbing the back over her neck furiously, she turned back to the training field

            Heart pounding, she took up the sword once more. “Again!” she cried, expelling some of the emotion she could not name. “You’re stance is weak,” she told the faun. “If I had my proper weapons, you would be backed into a corner.”

            With all her strength, Nimueh swung at the faun, the sword crashing down with every step she took. The faun staggered back, digging his hooves into the grass. “Better,” she breathed heavily, as the faun began to take better advantage of her poor handling of the sword.

            Nimueh pushed harder and harder, unable to stop, that horrible feeling rising into her chest. Soldiers switched in and out of the duels, each own starting strong but then backing out under the ferocity of her erratic fighting style.

            The final soldier’s sword fell to the ground. “Are you alright, my Lady?” he asked, and only then did she register the panic in his eyes as a reflection of her own.

            “Yes.” Nimueh took a moment to gather herself. “I just…”

            “She never was good with a broadsword.”

            Nimueh found herself grinning, dropping her head for a moment to hide her uncontrollable expression. “It’s just been a very long time,” she said to the soldiers, who were still staring at her, bewildered, before she stabbed the sword back into the earth and turned to greet her old friend.

            “Lady Firesong.” Edmund Pevensie strode across the lawn towards her, his familiar smirk a welcome sight.

            “Your Majesty.” Nimueh bowed accordingly. “It’s good to see you again.”

            “It’s good to see you too.” The two embraced firmly. “How have you been?”

            “Erm, fine.” She didn’t want to go to the trouble of explaining. “How about you?”

            “Glad to be back, though the circumstances aren’t ideal.”

            “I agree.”

            “You’re shaking?”

            Nimueh nodded. “I know.”

            “Nimueh?”

            “Susan!” She rushed passed Edmund and into the arms of the Queen.

            “I have missed your company so much,” Susan gushed.

            “I’ve missed you too. You’re still beautiful as ever.”

            “As are you.”

            “What about me?” The two young women pulled away, and Lucy beamed up at them.

            “You’re always beautiful, Your Majesty.”

            “I’m so glad,” Lucy hugged her, “I’m so glad you came back too. I can hardly believe it.”

            “I’m so sorry,” Nimueh couldn’t hold back.

            “What for?” asked Susan.

            “When I first felt the pull to Narnia this time, I tried to stay away. I did everything I could to delay my coming. I was afraid. I’m sorry.” Nimueh bowed again.

            “It’s alright. I understand why you would…” Susan trailed off when she noticed Nimueh looking over her shoulder, a glazed look to her eyes.

            Nothing could have prepared her for this. He wasn’t even looking at her, yet she felt a jarring inside. Her panic had settled, something new and terrifying had taken its place. Nimueh, again, fiddled a little with hair and clothes, almost willing Peter to look away from the training soldiers. Caspian stood with him, not fifty yards from where she and the three Pevensies were, blocking her view a little, but not so much to stop her from catching a glimpse of something that made her heart leap.

            “Are those…”

            “Your swords? Yes. Peter took them from the chamber. That was back when we didn’t think you would be here,” said Edmund.

            “I was going to ask the dwarves if they could replicate them, but now I suppose I don’t need to.” She exchanged glances with each of the Pevensies. “I should go and greet the High King.”

            “Yes,” Susan smiled, knowingly. “I suppose you should.”

            Nimueh threw her a slightly disapproving look, before straightening up and walking across to where the two young men stood. With every step, her senses heightened. How long had it been for him? Did he still love her? Neither answer to that question would have made Nimueh feel any better, as she didn’t even know how she herself was feeling.

            Caspian turned first, greeting her with a nod. “King Peter, this is-”

            “Lady Firesong.” He still looked the same to her. The same blue eyes and that same strange hair colour. And he gave her the same look he had given her many years ago; she just hadn’t known when it meant until he was gone.

            “Your Majesty.” Nimueh bowed low.

            “How many times must I tell you that you don’t have to address me like that?” There was a hidden laugh in his words, something Caspian likely wouldn’t have picked up.

            “At least once more, Your Majesty.”

            “The Lady been working with the soldiers since she arrived. I’m very impressed with how they have improved.” Caspian exchanged a smile with her.

            Peter didn’t say anything, only stared at her. His eyes where just as difficult to look away from as they had been however many years ago. But with that thought came those old fears, and she had to tear her gaze from them.

            “I see that you’ve-”

            “Oh, yes.” Peter unbound the blades from his belt. “I’m sorry.

            Nimueh shook her head. “Thank you. For looking after them for me.”

            She was suddenly very wary of Caspian’s presence next to her. In the silence that fell, Nimueh fixed the blades to her belt, the weight of them bringing the relief of familiarity. “I should get back to training the soldiers.”

            “I’ll train with them for now,” Caspian said. “You must want to catch up with your old friends.”

            “Yes. Thank you, Sire.” Nimueh bowed her head and looked back to Peter. He was staring into her eyes again, and she prayed to Aslan that he couldn’t see into her mind. “I’ll take my leave.”

            Turning away, she let her face fall. A strange sort of pain flushed through her veins in full force, whirling around in her head like waves in storm. It made her dizzy. If only she could turn back, run back, hold him, touch him even for a moment. To let him know how she felt, or else to find some inclination of how he might be feeling. Just to know something, anything.

            But she couldn’t. The Narnians were at war with the Telmarines. This was not to the time for such things, such…distractions. And so she would go on, as if she knew no more of him than Caspian did.

♚

“So you’ve only spent a year back in your world?” Nimueh walked with the two Queens to the cavern of the Stone Table.

            “Yes. What about you?” asked Susan.

            “Almost two.”

            “What have you been up to?”

            “Not a great deal. I left the orphanage, got a job and a house with it.”

            “You aren’t married?” Lucy had a mischievous glint in her eyes.

            Nimueh gave her a slightly exasperated sort of smile. “No, not yet.” She paused. “Why do think have we been summoned?” But they had reached the chamber before she received an answer.

            A few creatures, centaurs, dwarves, and minotaurs, along with the mouse, Reepicheep, and the badger, Trufflehunter, were already gathered in the chamber. Lucy shifted herself onto the Stone Table and Nimueh took her unintentionally dramatic place in front of the ancient carving of herself, Susan smiling, amused, beside her. The last to enter were Peter, Edmund, and Caspian, all looking rather solemn.

            “A soldier from Miraz’ army has been spotted at the edge of the forest,” Caspian announced.

            Everyone knew what that meant. As soon as Miraz knew of their whereabouts, he would be sending his armies to finish off the extermination of the Old Narnians, once and for all.

            “It’s only a matter of time before the army gets here,” Peter said. “Which means that those same men won’t be protecting his castle.”

            “What do you propose we do, Your Majesty?” Reepicheep asked.

            Both Peter and Caspian began to speak at once, and Nimueh felt a small twinge of pity in her chest. It was easy to see how well Peter had found him place back in the role of a leader, and Caspian, being the inexperienced figure head of this rebellion, seemed to want that role just as much. When the hall fell silent, Peter’s eyes met hers, and she nodded encouragingly, though she knew she wouldn’t like what he was going to say next.

            “If we are to have any hope of winning this battle, we have to strike them before they us.”

            “But no one has ever taken Miraz’ castle before,” Caspian interjected.

            “There’s always a first time.”

            “We will certainly have the element of surprise.” A red dwarf that Nimueh did not recognise stepped forward.

            “I don’t suppose there are any other places for us to hide,” Nimueh muttered to herself.

            “You were never one to run from a battle,” Susan whispered back.

            “I just mean until we have built up our army a little more and have access to more weapons. And besides, at the Battle of Beruna, we have far more trained soldiers, and after that, a stable monarchy, with treaties and civilized relations.”

            “Lady Firesong?” Peter called on her.

            “It’s… it’s nothing, Your Majesty. It’s just that…” Nimueh glanced a Susan. “It would definitely show that strength doesn’t always lie in numbers. At the very least, that’ll shake Miraz’ confidence.”

            Susan nodded, adding, “If we dig in, we might even be able to hold them off indefinitely.”

           

            Trufflehunter shuffled a little. “I for one feel better underground.”

            “We can’t just stay here and do nothing,” Nimueh protested, though softly. “Yes, it’s defensible to a certain extent, but it isn’t a fortress. It’s a tomb.” Peter turned to her with a grateful expression.

            “Edmund’s right.” Nimueh was relieved to have a solid side to take.

            “Besides, once the Telmarines have us surrounded, if they’re smart, they’ll just wait and starve us out,” said Edmund.

            “We could collect nuts.” Nimueh wanted to admire the cheerful optimism of the little red squirrel, but Reepicheep didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, scolding him.

            “I think you know where I stand, Sire,” the mouse said.

            Peter nodded at him briefly, then looked back at Nimueh. “If I get your troupes in, can you handle to guards?”

            She looked across the chamber at a centaur. “Glenstorm?”

            The centaur bowed his head. “Or die trying, My Liege.”

            “That’s what I’m worried about.” Everyone looked at Lucy. “You’re all acting like there is only two options; dying here or dying there.”

            Nimueh wanted to agree. But it had been so long since she had done this, and even back then there had only been one man to follow, that her mind seemed to have scrambled and she couldn’t find a clear way out.

            “I’m not sure you’ve really been listening, Lucy.”

            “No, _you’re_ not listening,” Lucy stressed to Peter. “Or have you forgotten who really defeated to White Witch, Peter?”

            Nimueh couldn’t miss the flash of hurt in Peter’s eyes. She wanted so much to go to him, comfort him, tell him that nobody blamed him for leaving. But she knew that she couldn’t, and that hurt even more. She could see him gathering himself up, not wanting to let anyone see through him.

            “I think we’ve waited for Aslan long enough. Tell the soldiers to suit up and gather their weapons immediately. We’ll discuss the details when everyone is prepared.” The King said no more.

            Most of the company, including Susan, strode out of the chamber, but Caspian walked straight over to Nimueh.

            “You don’t agree with his plan, I know you don’t.”

            Nimueh gave him a look between a glare and pleading gaze, begging him to keep his voice down. “I know how dangerous this is. We could lose a lot of soldiers. But…but the High King’s logic is sound. This is what makes sense.”

            “But I saw you. You wanted to say-”

            “It is not my place to speak against the High King,” she hissed quietly. “You must understand that Peter- that the Kings and Queens have far more experience in this area than you do. That’s why you called on us, so that we could help you. I trust you, Sire. Now it is you turn to trust them, as you have trusted me.” Caspian sighed, looking to the floor. “Please,” Nimueh said, placing a hand on his upper arm. “Please, trust us.”

            Caspian didn’t say a word, only nodded. As Nimueh dropped her hand and turned to leave, she spotted Peter walking out of sight. She wondered if he had been standing there, watching, and for how long.

            “Come on,” she said to the Prince. “You need to be ready for this.”


	7. Raid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N ~ This is honestly not the best chapter I have ever written. I really wish I could have done it better. But the next few chapter will be better, I promise!

At the edge of the forest, the first line of the Narnians formed just inside the shadows, their breath of billowing into the air. Every pair of eyes lifted to the castle, a mere shadow against the clear sky, waiting.

            Then, just before the stillness became unbearable, a beam of light cut through the darkness. A white light, one that looked so alien in Narnia, but it reminded Nimueh of the Sun-powered lights back on the Island. Glancing up at Glenstorm, they exchanged nods and moved towards the town.

            The army prowled, low and deliberate, across the open grass. Nimueh looked up to see the griffins swooping in overhead, and she hoped with every fibre of her being that this plan worked.

            In the dead of night, all of the lights in the town had gone out. At every clink of armour, every scuff of hooves on the cobbled street, Nimueh couldn’t help but wince. It wasn’t that anyone in the village waking up could really do anything to make their plan even more of a risk, but it was the King they were after, not any of his innocent subjects.

            Once they had made it through the town, they stopped again under a large archway, a few more houses on either side and the long bridge to the castle gate laid out before them. Nimueh stood between Glenstorm and a black dwarf named Nikabrik, the three of them with their eyes locked on the now visible tower from which the beam of light had shone. Again, they waited.

            When the alarm bells rang through the air, Nimueh tensed, twisting her neck to see if any of the town had awoken. Many of the soldiers looked back at her nervously. Turning to face forward again, she took in a deep breath and exhaled through her nose.

            “Hold the line,” she said firmly. “Wait for the signal.” Nimueh half expected, half hoped, for the Edmund to signal a retreat soon enough. If Miraz’ men knew that they were there, they had lost their one advantage.

            Minutes passed.

            All was still.

            And then the drawbridge dropped.

            Nimueh felt every prickle that ran across her skin. The beam from Edmund’s touch sliced across the sky, and her heart sank. But she couldn’t let this cloud her mind. If it was going to end like this, she would rather it end with a sword in her hand and soldiers at her side.

            “Do the honours,” she glanced up at Glenstorm.

            Rearing up on his hind legs, the centaurs let out a thunderous battle cry and crashed into a run. Nimueh soon fell behind the rest of the centaurs, swarmed by the fauns and satyrs. She unsheathed her blades and ran with her racing heartbeat.

            The portcullis hadn’t been fully raised by the time they reached the gatehouse. The troupe ducked under it and spilled into the courtyard. To Nimueh’s right as she passed through the gatehouse was Susan, Peter, and Caspian. Weaving her way towards them, she gave Susan an alarmed stare, as if to ask what in Aslan’s name had happened. But Peter was looking at her, and she couldn’t help but soften her eyes.

            “For Narnia,” he said.

            Nimueh glanced briefly at Caspian, then back to Peter. She nodded. “For Narnia.”

            The four of them surged into the battlefield. Something came over her in that moment. She wasn’t sure what it was, but just seeing Peter charge forwards beside her filled her with a fire that she had forgotten she had.

            Miraz’ men were falling out of the castle walls, their armours glowing a haunting, silvery-blue in the moonlight. The first Telmarine Nimueh caught on the nape of the neck, cutting down to the bone. Swinging her blades with fierce precision, every man in her path fell to the ground, having little time to fight back.

            One particularly large soldier towered over her comparatively small frame. He brought his sword down heavy against hers, forcing her to use bow arms to stop him from crushing her. Nimueh pushed upwards with all her might, staggering forward, trying to make the man lose his balance. When he let up, she brought her foot to the back of knee and pulled. He fell backwards and Nimueh buried her sword in his chest.

            Filled with dangerous courage, she climbed a set of stairs up to the first level of battlements, towards the door that most the soldiers had emerged from. She could hear the cries of rallying men from inside the castle; she could at the very least buy her army some time.

            Flying across the walkway, Nimueh ducked in through the door. The voices of the soldiers were getting louder. She looked around for anything that could help her. There were oil lamps hanging on the walls all the way down the corridor. Sheathing her blades, she unhooked two of them from their brackets and rushed back to the door. Nimueh smashed one lamp onto the inside, sending the thick wood up in flames. Closing the door quickly before the metal handle became too hot to hold, she hurled the second lantern at the outside of it. The oil splashed onto the ground, cause her to stubble backward as the heat whipped up against her skin.

            As she unshielded her eyes, she spotted the King and his guards, and a satyr clinging onto a balcony. If only she had practiced more with her bow, she thought, she might have gotten a clear shot at Miraz’ head. Cursing under her breath as he walked over to the creature, Nimueh could only watch as the satyr plummeted through the air, down into the massacre below.

            “Look out!” she screamed at Peter, who was battling his way up the stairs at the other end of the battlement, as the creature narrowly missed his head. He looked up, searching frantically the source of her voice.

            Nimueh ran towards the stairs, unsheathing her blades, nodding to the High King as she leapt from a fair height to come crashing on top of a Telmarine soldier who was overpowering a dwarf. But before she could look back up at Peter, there was thunderous boom from the other end of the courtyard.

            Whatever had been keep the portcullis open had been severed. If not for the minotaur who had wedged himself beneath it, they would all be trapped. Nimueh knew what was coming next, and sure enough, from above her, Peter called for a retreat.

            “Nimeuh, you have to get out of here!” she heard him yell down to her.

            “I’ll gather the soldiers first,” she replied, giving him no time to disagree.

            Nimueh cut down every Telmarine in her way, slashing at them with no mercy, and ordering every Narnian within earshot to retreat. She hadn’t seen Susan since the battle had begun, and could only hope that she had gotten out safely.

            Now arrows had begun to rain down from the battlement, striking the minotaur who fought with all his might to stay standing. Several mice were cornered to the left of the gatehouse. Nimueh hurried behind the two soldiers holding them captive. The first she reached had her blade driven into his back, and the second, who turned his spear on her, she twisted it out of his grip with her swords and settled him with a blow to the head. “Get out of here! Go!” she yelled at the mice, and they fled.

            In her rush, Nimueh hadn’t realized just how exposed she was to the path of the arrows until it was too late.

            An arrow struct her thigh, embedding itself deep in her muscle. Her knees buckled, hitting the flagstones of the courtyard ground, a sound she didn’t know it was possible for her to make escaped her throat. The hollow scream rang deafening in her head, the pain of the pierce slicing through her body like poison.

            All around her, men and creatures were falling, cries of anguish filling her ears. It seemed a miracle that the Telmarine soldiers only stumbled past her, not seeing a crying woman on her knees as a threat. This, of course, was far from the truth, and she wasn’t going to show them that by letting the pain stop her from fighting until the very end.

            Adrenaline flushed through her blood, bending her limbs to its will. She got to her feet, picking up her blades, with fury in her eyes. Snapping the end of the arrow off, but leaving a long enough stem for her to remove it later, she slammed the foot of her good leg into the back of the nearest Telmarine soldier.

            “My Lady!” Caspian appeared on her horse behind her. “We must leave now!”

            “But there are-”

            “We’ll be trapped. Are you injured? Take my hand.”

            Though she felt obliged to stay until every surviving Narnian was safely out of the castle, Nimueh could not disobey his orders. She took his hand and hoisted herself up onto the horse in front of him, gasping in pain with each movement of her injured leg. Once secure, Caspian handed her the reins and they ducked back under the portcullis and across the draw bridge.

            Even though she didn’t see it happen, the distinct thud of the iron gate dropping ran straight through her spine. Pulling the horse to a halt outside the main gate, Nimueh turned them to look back at the castle. The sight was enough to break her heart.

            Peter was stopped, just outside the gatehouse, a soul-shattering look on his face. Nimueh felt a lump the size of her heart rise into her throat and tears ran uncontrollably down her face. She didn’t what had possessed Peter to call in the troupes after the alarm bell had sounded, but she couldn’t find it in herself to blame him, not when he looked like that.

            A gut-wrenching nod of acceptance passed between Glenstorm and one of his sons, who was trapped on the other side of the portcullis, and Nimueh had to look away. She wouldn’t have been able to bear people seeing her in such a state, but no one would question it as she had her leg as an excuse.

            Tears blurred her version, and she hardly even heard Caspian warn Peter that the drawbridge was being raised, nor noticed when his arms closed around her and took the reins from her hands.

            Never before had she felt so terrible after a battle. Her injury, not being that severe, wasn’t the problem. She had gone into this knowing that it was a risk, and she thought she had been prepared for every outcome. She _should_ have been prepared for the worst.

            But with Peter walking back into her life, and Nimueh unable to even understand her feelings towards him before they were thrown back into a battle where either of them could have lost their life, it was enough to fog up her brain completely. She just hoped that the journey back to Aslan’s how would be long enough for her to get everything clear in her mind.


	8. The Aftermath

“That’s awful.” Nimueh bowed her head as Susan finished the story. “To have your father taken from you by someone you thought you could trust…”

            “I know. He was distraught.”

            “I can imagine.”

            Susan patted Destrier’s neck. She had walked beside Nimueh, who had ridden the horse the entire journey back to the how, telling her everything that happened before the battle. As Nimueh was able to piece everything together, she could see where Peter had gone wrong. What she didn’t understand was why he felt the need to call in the troupes when all of their chances had been spent.

            No one had spoken to Peter since they had left Miraz’ castle. In the beginning, he had looked so sorrowful, so deep in thought, that none dared to bother him, not even Nimueh. Now he had dismounted his horse, and marched to the head of the group with a hard frown set in his brow.

            “I’m going to go and speak to Caspian, make sure he’s okay.”

            Nimueh nodded, watching Susan stride ahead with weary eyes.

            “I think we’re almost back.” Edmund had appeared at her side. “How’s your leg?”

            “It doesn’t hurt so much now, but I lost a lot of blood. I’m not looking forward to taking this arrow out.”

            They walked in silence for a while, neither knowing what to say about the events of the night. When they entered the clearing, Nimueh let out a heavy sigh, relieved at the open space after traveling through the forest for hours. A think mist hung in the air the same way it had when she had first arrived at the how. The low, mournful tone of the centaurs’ horn carried over the heads of the soldier, resonating in Nimueh’s ears, bleeding into her brain.

            “Edmund, could you please help me down?” She pulled on the reins to bring Destrier to a halt.

            “Yeah, sure.” He looked at her injured thigh, the broken arrow shift still sticking out a few inches, the head embedded in her leg. “We’re going to have to get you down from the other side; you can’t put any weight on that leg.”

            Nimueh shifted in the saddle and sharp sting ran from her thigh to her toes. “Maybe I should just stay on the horse.”

            Edmund chuckled. “Here, put your hands on my shoulders and I’ll lift you down.” She did so, Edmund taking her waist, pulling her gently off the horse. Instinctively, she bent her injured leg to make the movement easier, but winced and seethed at the shocking pain. “It’s okay, just put your arm over my shoulder and I’ll get you to Lucy.”

            Landing on her good leg, a faun found her other arm and helped her hop over to the courtyard near the entrance to the how. Nimueh bit her bottom lip, but on the uneven ground, three of them stumbled and a puppy’s yelp escaped her lips. Peter and Caspian, who she had not noticed had their swords drawn and pointed at each other, turned to look at her.

            Immediately sheathing his sword, Peter hurried over as Edmund set her down on a rock in the courtyard. “What happened?”

            “What does it look like?” Susan snapped, joining the huddle. “She got shot.”

            “Well, why didn’t you say anything?” Peter asked, eyes wide, brows furrowed.

            “Caspian made sure I got out in time, and you seemed a little preoccupied at the time.” Nimueh tugged lightly at the shaft of the arrow, but retracted her hand as a blinding pain brought tears to her eyes. Her chest began to heave with shaking breaths, and she pushed back stray hairs from her forehead. “I can’t do it. I just…it’s too painful. Edmund, you have to pull it out.”

            “I don’t know if-”

            “Please, you have to!”

            “Alright,” Edmund sighed. He placed a hand on her knee to steady her, and wrapped his hand around the arrow where it entered her flesh.

            Susan knelt down next to Nimueh, offering her hand for her to squeeze. Nimueh made the mistake of looking Peter directly in the eyes just as Edmund gave an almighty yank and pulled the arrow clean out of her leg. Her back arched violently, and she lurched forward, a cry rising into a short scream of agony. Her head clouded for a moment, her palm scratching across the surface of the rock.

            Peter reached out to catch her, but she managed to keep herself from falling sideways. Calling out for Lucy, he could only look at her with that horrible, helpless expression.

            “Thank you, Edmund,” Nimueh spluttered, her chest still heaving.

            “No problem.”

            Freeing Susan’s hand from her grasp, Nimueh thanked her also. Lucy had appeared with her cordial, letting a drop fall onto the open wound on Nimueh’s thigh. It sizzled painfully for a second or two, before collapsing in on itself and disappearing entirely. The youngest Queen allowed her another drop for her grazed hand.

            “Are you alright?” Peter asked with a solemn stare as Nimueh got off the rock and stood firmly on the ground.

            She nodded. “I am now, thank you.”

            “What happened?” said Lucy.

            Peter looked away from Nimueh and towards Lucy, jerking his head in the direction of where Caspian had been standing. “Ask him.” But Caspian was gone.

            “Peter,” Susan sighed.

            “I don’t think it’s very fair for you to blame it all on Caspian,” Nimueh frowned.

            “What do you expect me to do? None of this would have happened if it weren’t for him!”

            “If you hadn’t just had a shouting match with him, perhaps we could have sorted things out civilly,” Susan said, sharply. “You had better get inside and talk to him.”

            Peter glanced at Nimueh, looking to find something in her eyes that simply wasn’t there. She only stared at him, not even sure how to feel. She had known from the start that storming the castle was a risk. And though she had made it clear that staying at Aslan’s how and doing nothing wouldn’t have been her first choice either, it was the lesser of the two evils. Yet she had vowed to serve the High King, and so she had done as he had asked. Before she even noticed, Peter had already begun walking away.

            Nimueh, with a worried glance at Susan, followed Peter into the mound of Aslan’s how. He went deep underground, through twisting tunnels until they reached a small, empty chasm. A few flaming torches were mounted on the walls, and larger stone stood in the centre. Nimueh waited for Peter the settle comfortably on the far side of the table, facing away from her, before she spoke.

            “What exactly are you trying to prove?”

            Peter stood quickly, but did not turn around. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “Then what in Aslan’s name was all of that, back there?”

            “Caspian didn’t follow the plan. He caused the death of so many soldiers.”

            “I don’t mean your little spat. I mean back at the castle. Susan told me everything. What were you thinking?”

            “You’re blaming me?!” He finally turned around, disgust plastered all over his face.

            “Susan said she told you. There was no time to do anything else. You should have called a retreat before you dragged the rest of the troupes in.”

            “So, you _are_ blaming me, and defending _him_?”

            “No, I’m defending his actions. How would you feel if you found out someone you once trusted had killed your father? If you had the opportunity, would you just let something like that slide?”

            Peter dropped his head and turned away. “I made a choice. Why can’t you respect that?”

            “I respect _you_. I don’t have to agree with every choice you make. This was the wrong choice. You didn’t think about your surroundings and that Miraz’s soldiers had already been called up. There was no more damage we could have done. But I went along with it anyway.”

            “Oh, well, thank you for _going along_ with my plan.”

            “I’m just saying you could have thought things through a little better before rushing into things.”

            “I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to decide, and besides, I don’t need a lecture from you on battle strategy.”

            “I suppose you gave me the title of Chief Strategist for nothing then.”

            “Well, maybe _you_ should be the High King,” Peter snapped.

            “Oh, so that’s what this is all about?” Nimueh huffed. She marched over to Peter and yanked the cord from underneath her shirt. Threading her thumb under it, she held it out so that Peter could see the ring dangling next to Firesong pendant. “Do you know what this is?”

            Peter’s eyes narrowed momentarily, then widened as he realized what it was. “Where did get this?”

            Nimueh could no longer look him in the face. “Do you remember Helena?” Her voice had softened. It was not grave or sorrowful, more reminiscent. “She gave it to me a couple of months after you disappeared. She told me that you…were going to…give it to me.” She paused, waiting for Peter to reply, but he said nothing. “I thought I would never get to see you again,” she said sharply. “Now, I don’t even recognise you. You’re not how I remember you at all.”

            Something passed over Peter’s face, a kind of repressed pain that he seemed to be trying desperately to keep her from seeing, but there was something else. Nimueh wished she understood him; even after fifteen years of serving in his court, she wasn’t entirely sure that she understood the ways of humankind. 

            Nimueh dropped her hand and sighed. “You never needed to prove anything to anyone. Those soldiers followed you into that castle because they already believed in you. Your return gave them hope, the return of arguably the greatest King Narnia has ever seen. You are _their_ King, and that’s not something that’s going to change.”

            When Peter stayed silent once again, Nimueh turned to leave, stopping only when she reached the entrance to the tunnel. “You have always been _my_ King, Peter. Always.”

            Instead of replying with words, Nimueh heard footsteps, heavy and proud, like those of a much older High King, one she had known however many years ago. She felt his presence stop behind her. Peter touched her shoulder and she quickly turned back to face him. He reached out to the ring, but retracted his hand when he saw Nimueh eyes drop to the floor, raising it and brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek. Suddenly it felt like there were just meeting again, and eye contact felt so difficult. She wasn’t sure whether it was embarrassment about what she had just confessed, or a dulled anger towards him for leaving her in Narnia, but Nimueh couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She tilted her face away from his hand and began to leave once more, but Peter caught her arm.

            “Won’t you stay a little while?”

            She almost broke at the pain in his voice. Nimueh had promised to fight by his side in every battle since the beginning, but right now she didn’t know what she could do. She finally looked up into his eyes. “I have to clear up this argument. We can’t keep acting like children. This is war.” Peter nodded slightly and let her arm free of his grip.

            She walked through the tunnel and out into the more open chasms. She needed to find Caspian. She needed air. But before she could head above ground, she heard the most terrible noise coming from deep within the mound. Nimueh didn’t know how she could hear the soft beat and high-pitched cries over the chatter of the army and clashing of blacksmith hammers. Something was definitely wrong.

            Heading back the way she had come, she cried out for the High King, who came running as if he had been waiting for her to return.

            “What is it?” He clutched her shoulder, his eyes wide.

            “I don’t know. But we need to get to the Stone Table now!”


	9. Time Lapse

Nimueh couldn’t believe what she was seeing. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the lifeless body of the White Witch on the battlefield at Beruna. Yet there she stood, tall and haunting as she had been, encased in ice, blocking the carving of Aslan. And, to Nimueh’s horror, her hand was reaching out into the open air.

            Before her towering presence was the black dwarf, Nikabrik, and two other creatures who Nimueh came to recognise as a hag and a werewolf, both draped in dark rags. And in the centre of this cult circle stood Caspian, his gaze fixed upon the White Witch and his arm raised towards her.

            Edmund and Trumpkin arrived as Peter yelled at the Prince, and the four of them hurried into the chamber before anything else could happen. The werewolf leapt onto the Stone Table and lunged forwards at Edmund. Peter broke away towards the hag, Nimueh following round the Table towards Caspian.

            The hag, far more agile than Nimueh had expected, caught Peter’s arm as he brought his sword down on her. The side of the blade clashed on the corner of the Table, and the sword fell to the ground, Peter along with it. This gave Nimueh enough time to draw her own blade and smack the hilt of it hard on the hag’s skull. The hag lost her balance and Peter kicked her into a jagged rock at the side of the room.

            Nimueh didn’t see Lucy enter the cavern, only heard her cries of pain as Nikabrik twisted her arm behind her back. The wolf’s howls and the hag’s high-pitched moans echoed wildly all around her. Seeing Peter get up and hurry towards Caspian, she looked around for some way to help. Lucy had fallen down under one of the stone arches, staring up as the black dwarf approached with a dagger.

            As she circled the Stone Table, Trumpkin finished Nikabrik off before Nimueh could get to him, stabbing the other dwarf in the back. Instead, Nimueh hauled Lucy to her feet and guided the shaking girl towards the exit tunnel.

            “What’s happening?” Susan called, running into the cavern.

            “Someone managed to summon the White Witch and Caspian almost…” Nimueh trailed off, Peter catching her eye once more. He was stood in front of the icy pane, where Caspian had before, looking up at the Witch. Her first instinct was to yell at him to move but, still apprehensive from his actions during the night, she waited to see what he would do.

            The Witch said something to Peter, though Nimueh didn’t hear it, but to her despair, Peter began to lower his sword.

            “What is he doing?” she hissed under her breath. Glancing at Susan, Nimueh tread carefully around the Stone Table, afraid of what Peter might do next.

            Then, quite suddenly, the tall woman inside the ice arched backwards. The ice creaked and cracked, then collapsed to reveal Edmund, sword still raised. “I know,” he said. “You had it sorted.”

            Nimueh let out a short sigh, though it echoed, carrying harsher than she had expected. The two young men turned to look, Peter at her and Caspian at Susan, both with expressions of astonishment, perhaps at their own actions. Part of Nimueh knew than Peter would never consider bringing back the White Witch, even if it _did_ mean defeating Miraz, but the part of her that was still in doubt carried her out of the chamber after Susan.

            Neither of them spoke for a while, not yet finding the words to say. Susan slowed her walk as they came out into the open air. When they reached the clearing used for training, she took up her bow and stabbed a few arrows into the dew-softened ground.

            “I’m sure Caspian had no idea what he was doing. He doesn’t really know the tyranny of the White Witch after all,” Nimueh said, before Susan raised her bow to aim.

            “I suppose,” she replied, releasing the arrow. “Then I guess you shouldn’t be too hard on Peter either. He’s had a rough year.”

            “Really? I had no idea.”

            “Yeah. He’s started getting into fights. He was in one just before we were pulled back into Narnia. It was really hard for him to adjust from being the High King, someone who everyone respected and listened to, back to being treated like a child at the bottom of the heap.”

            “It reminds me of when I first met him.” Nimueh laughed sadly as Susan laid down her weapons and came to sit on the grass next to her. “He told me that he didn’t feel up to being King, and yet look what he became. The Narnians loved him, they loved you all. And they still do, even after all these years. I just wish he could believe in himself the way he used to.”

            “I see that you’re feelings haven’t wavered,” Susan said with a repressed smirk.

            “Of course. I made a promise to my family. As I am the only one left, I must honour them more than ever.”

            “I’m so sorry.” The Queen touched Nimueh’s hand. “I didn’t know. But that wasn’t what I meant.”

            “Then I’m not sure what you meant.” She was lying, so well in fact, that she had herself convinced.

            But her doubts as to Peter’s character were shrinking with each word Susan spoke of his year back in their world. By the time she had finished, all Nimueh wanted was to rush back into the how and see Peter, not even speak to him, just be there in his company. She could talk of inappropriate timing and war all that she wanted, but there was no denying that their time together was limited, and it was foolish to waste it.

            “And what about you? How has your time been?”

            “My job is going perfectly well. The Elite that I serve is kind, and so very innocent. I almost wish that she didn’t have to grow up into that cruel society. I probably won’t be able to bear seeing her change.” She plucked at the grass and ran through her fingers. “And my house is lovelier than any I could have asked for.”

            “Go,” laughed Susan.

            Nimueh looked at her, shocked. “What?”

            “Go and see Peter. You must forgive me, but you’re an idiot. I know you want to see him, so go.”

            The two of them stood, and Nimueh could not help but embrace Susan. “I have missed you greatly too. You know that, don’t you?”

            “I do. It’s good to see you again. Now go.”

            Nimueh smiled, grateful, and hurried back towards the how.


	10. The Truth Untold

Nimueh re-entered the Stone Table chamber to find Peter and Lucy staring up at the carving of Aslan in silence. At the soft echo of her footsteps, Lucy’s head swivelled around. She smiled at her, stood, and circled the Table to meet her.

            “Have you come to talk to Peter?”

            Nimueh only answered with a small smile. Lucy bowed her head low and left the chamber. Once more, she and Peter were alone.

            Peter had not moved an inch since she had come into the cavern. He continued to stare intensely at the depiction of the Lion, as if his life depended on it, even as she sat down on a stone next to him. Only when she spoke did his eyes shift, angling away from her at the floor.

            “I’m sorry I got so angry before. I didn’t know that you had been suffering.”

            “Going from a respected King back to a kid, it just makes you feel so helpless. It just seems like no one will listen to you and, after a while, you start to believe that you really _are_ powerless to do _anything_.”

            “Susan told me. But you mustn’t believe it. You can’t let other people get to you, because the people who really matter, _they_ believe in you. You don’t have to prove anything to them.” Though hesitantly, Nimueh reached out to touch Peter’s hands which were clasped over one knee, but retracted at the last moment, just as he had done. “I stand by what I said before; you will always be _my_ King.”

            Finally, Peter turned to look at her face. His blue eyes were laced with something so familiar, but in the couple of years that had passed, she had forgotten what it was. Taking her hand, he threaded his fingers between hers, a gesture so alien, inappropriate for a King to make towards his subordinate, but Nimueh couldn’t pull away. She wanted nothing more than to hold his hands in hers for the rest of her life.

            “There were moments, back at home in England, when I didn’t let myself believe that you were real. I thought to myself, no one like that could really exist. I’m sorry.”

            “It’s alright. The first time you leave, you wonder if any of it was real. I suppose, had I not remained to distant-”

            “I love you.” The words slipped from his lips so suddenly, as though he had been holding them back for an eternity, as though they had spent every second fighting to break free.

            Nimueh could have sworn she felt her heart stop. Pulling her hand away from Peter’s, she stood and moved a couple of steps away from him. With her back turned, she placed one hand where the ring lay under her shirt, and wrapped her other arm around herself. When Helena had given the ring to her and told her that the King loved her and wanted to marry her, she had believed it. Even since they had been reunited, she had wanted to think it was true. But now, hearing it from his own mouth, she could hardly entertain the idea.

            “I’m sorry,” he said, softly. “I shouldn’t have-”

            “But you’re the High King, and I’m just-”

            “You’re not _just_ anyone,” Peter cut her off, coming to stand in front of her, taking hold of her upper arms so that she couldn’t move away. “If I am your King, that makes you a Queen. No matter what anyone else says, you don’t have to prove yourself to them.”

            Nimueh’s lips curled upwards slightly as he echoed her words. “You should listen to yourself.”

            Peter dropped his head, smiling at the ground. “I know that it isn’t right for me to unload all of this onto you. And with everything that’s going on, it really isn’t the right time for me to tell you. But I couldn’t stand the thought that one of us might not survive and you would never know. I understand if you don’t feel that same way, I know I haven’t exactly been-”

            “I do.” Her cheeks flushed as the words left her mouth before she could stop them. Her heart began to pound in her ears, but knowing that neither of them may live for much longer, she fought against all of her instincts and stood where she was. She looked up into his eyes which bored into her own. “I do,” she said again. “I still love you.”

            “Still?” His voice was little more than a whisper.

            “Do you think I would have kept the ring if I hadn’t loved you back then?”

            “How long?” Peter moved closer to her with each question. Nimueh unfolded her arms but, despite all that had been said, feared that touching him might be overstepping the mark.

            “Perhaps a few years after the coronation, once I had gotten to know you. You treated me like no one else had, like I was your equal. And I was more than grateful for that.”

            “I told you didn’t I? I told you that you would never be made to feel less than anyone else.”

            “You remember that?”

            “How could I forget it? Of all promises I made during my reign, that was the one I was most determined to keep.”

            “You should be glad none of the other members of the court are here to hear you say that.” They shared a silent chuckle and Peter brought his head down until his fringe brushed her forehead.

            “Can I?”

            She bit her bottom lip and nodded twice.

            As if he were still uncertain as to whether Nimueh had given her consent, Peter leant ever so slowly downward. Nimueh fluttered her eyelids shut as he just touched her nose with his lips, before moving over to her cheeks. She felt a little of his breath brush over them, Peter still hesitant. But he didn’t kiss them as she thought, instead went straight to her lips, closing his gently over them.

            Nimueh had never been kissed before, only on the forehead and very few times. She had seen the Elites kiss each other, but it was nothing like this. It was so cold, so unfeeling, a fight for who had the most power, just like everything else was with them. And it was nothing like this.

            This was so warm and soft and, as she had her eyes closed, she couldn’t tell whether it was the heat from the torches, but her cheeks were on fire. Peter moved his arm down to her waist, clasping them behind, and pulling her body up towards him. Nimueh, once she had overcome the initial shock of it all, reached up to touch his face. Brushing a few hairs from his forehead, she brought her hand to rest at the base of his neck.

            Both pulling away, keeping their foreheads together. Nimueh opened her eyes and looked up. Peter was looking down, a quiet smile on his lips. For a minute, it was like there was no war, no fighting to be done. Just them, and peace.

            “Pete-oh?” The echo of surprise caused the couple to spring apart, Nimueh pushing Peter away from her quite forcefully. Licking her lips, she pierced them tightly and cleared her throat. Though she refused to look at the intruder, she didn’t miss the small smirk on the High King’s face before it straightened into a serious expression.

            “What is it, Ed?”

            “If you’re not _too_ busy,” Nimueh could hear Edmund trying not to smile. “There is something you should probably see.”

            “I’ll be right there.” The two of them waited from Edmund’s footsteps to disappear before they spoke again. “You’re looking a little pink,” Peter said, brushing the knuckle of his index finger over her cheek, and frowning in mockery.

            “Shut up, Peter.” Nimueh instantly regretted it, as a pang of guilt pulled in her chest.

            “Oh?” he chuckled. “Not only are we using ‘Peter’ now, but we’re getting ‘shut up’ as well. What happened to ‘Your Majesty’?”

            “I thought I was a Queen? I can say what I want now, can’t I?” She smiled, though still not looking at him. “You should go. It sounded urgent.”

            “Aren’t you coming with me?”

            “Well, I thought maybe, after all of _this_ , you might not want me to come with you.”

            Peter laughed, stepping up to her, and pulled her towards him. “Did you listen to anything I just said?”

            “Of course I did, but I-”

            “You’re never leaving my side again, do you understand?”

            “Yes, Your Majesty.”

            “Stop it,” he said assertively, kissing her temple. Taking her hand, he attempted to lead her away, but she stood still for a moment. “I’ll carry you if I have to.”

            Nimueh smiled brightly, almost teary-eyed. “I would have said ‘yes’, you know.” Peter cocked his head, momentarily confused. “White Stag or not, I would have said ‘yes’.”

            A broad grin spread across the young King’s face. He practically dragged her back into his arms and placed another kiss firmly on her lips. “I’ll remember that,” he said, still grinning.

            And they left the chamber, hand in hand.


	11. Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N ~ It's been a long time since I've update this story, hasn't it. I'm sorry that I dropped off the face of the earth for so long. I suppose, it's just that this is book is coming close to the end and I don't want it to be over! I can say, though, that the last few will be coming soon. I hope you enjoy them.
> 
> My Love, Always ~ Slightly X

The steel blue army bled from the trees into the clearing. As expected, Miraz’ army was far greater in numbers than their own. Nimueh glanced up the gage the expression on Peter’s face, but she only saw his stern eyes fixed on the Telmarine soldiers.

            After what had happened in the chamber of the Stone Table, Nimueh wasn’t sure what kind of actions were appropriate to make in front of the other Pevensies and Caspian. Before, she had always known to repress any signs of her affection for Peter, even in comforting him, but now that everything was out in the open, things might have changed. Thankfully she didn’t have to make that choice.

            Peter closed his hand firmly around her upper arm. “Go and find Glenstorm, and meet us in the strategy chamber. We’ll figure something out.” She only nodded and left.

            Minutes later, she and the centaur joined the four Kings and Queens, Doctor Cornelius – Caspian’s professor, whom he had rescued from the castle – Trumpkin, Trufflehunter, Reepicheep, and a large bear in the chamber.

            “We need to get to Aslan,” Peter said firmly. “If Lucy saw him in the forest, then that’s where he’ll be.”

            “You don’t think he’ll have moved on by now?” said Trufflehunter.

            “If he wants Lucy to finds him, which I’m sure he does, then she will.”

            “Is that your big plan?” Trumpkin, the red dwarf, sent the High King a hooded glare. “You want to send a little girl into the darkest parts of the forest alone?”

            “It’s our only chance,” Peter stressed.

            “And she won’t be going alone,” said Susan, placing her hand on Lucy’s shoulder.

            Trumpkin sighed, moving over the Lucy, his eyes pleading. “Haven’t enough of us died already?”

            “For Aslan,” grumbled the bulgy bear. A muttering mantra of the same echoed softly in the chamber.

            “Then I’m going with you,” Trumpkin said firmly, but Lucy shook her head.

            “No, we need you here.”

            “We have to hold them off until Susan and Lucy get back,” Nimueh finally spoke up. “And for that we need every sword we have.”

            Out of the corner of her eyes, Nimueh spotted Caspian leaning a little closer to his professor who nodded. Caspian glanced up and caught her gaze, and she looked at him expectantly.

            “If I may,” he smiled weakly, and Nimueh nodded. The rest of company turned to the young Prince. “Miraz may be a tyrant and a murderer. But as king, he is subject to the traditions and expectation of his people. There is one in particular that may buy us some time.”

            “We’re all ears,” Peter signed.

            “If we were to challenge to the Miraz to a battle in single combat, I doubt he will refuse. That should give Queen Lucy enough time to find Aslan at least.”

            “Single combat?” Edmund mused. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

            “It’s a bold move, a smart move even, on our part,” said Nimueh.

            “It’s our best hope right now and we don’t have time to think of something else,” Peter frowned. “We’ll send him the challenge immediately. Have you pen and ink, Doctor?”

♚

Edmund, Glenstorm and the giant, Wimbleweather, were sent over to where Miraz had made his camp to deliver the challenge. Caspian, Susan, and Lucy went to prepare their weapons and a horse so that they could make a quick getaway whatever the circumstances. When the silence left by their departure became too much, each of the other creatures left the chamber, one by one, until only Nimueh and Peter remained.

            “Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked her. She nodded, knowing that her concentration wouldn’t settle until the challenge was answered.

            The two of them didn’t speak until they were standing back up on the platform above the how’s entrance.

            “Did it have to be a fight to the death?” Nimueh blurted out in a short breath.

            “You don’t think I can win?”

            “I have complete faith in you, Your Majesty…Peter. It’s just that, in every other battle, we can be there, by your side. It keeps me sane knowing that, should you need me, I can step in and help you.”

            “I understand that,” and somehow Peter found it in himself to smile. “It’ll be hard knowing that you’re not there to fight beside me.”

            After everything that had happened that day, everything that had been said, Nimueh felt as though she had run out of words. Was it selfish of her to want to go back to the Stone Table and forget that all of this was happening, like she had done not an hour before?

            “You’ll have to forgive me,” Nimueh muttered, smiling slightly to herself. “I agreed to let the Elite that I work for try and set me up to get married. I’m getting old, you see. I mean, back on the Island. I’m sorry. I guess, I was losing faith.”

            “You don’t have to be sorry. I wouldn’t have expected you to wait for me.”

            Nimueh, still looking out over the grassy clearing, the edge now contaminated with Telmarine soldiers, lifted her hand, willing Peter to take it. Feeling his palm slide into hers, she closed her fingers and held him tight.

            “I can’t lose you,” she said. “Not again.”

            “You won’t.” Peter stepped yet closer to her, letting go of her hand and curling his arm around her waist. She reached across and placed the opposite a hand over his.

            There was a long pause between them, and finally Peter said, “I’m going back in. I need to make sure my armour is in order. I’ll be needing it either way. Are you coming?”

            Nimueh shook her head softly. “I’ll stay out here for a while, until they return.” And she was left alone.

♚

“Your Majesties!” Nimueh hurried back inside the how. “The challenge has been answered. Miraz has accepted it.”

            “Where's Edmund?” asked Lucy.

            “He's working out the terms of combat with on of the Telmarine lords.” Nimueh turned to Peter. “You're required to choose three marshals for the contest.”

            “Lucy, find Susan and get ready to leave,” said Peter, and the young girl started towards a tunnel that led out to the makeshift practice area outside.

            “I’d like to put myself forward,” Caspian said, keeping in step with the two of them as a small group of leaders walked though a tunnel to a chamber where Peter’s old armour have been laid out. “After what Miraz did to my father.”

            “I’m afraid I can’t accept that. It’s your throne we’re fighting for. It’s you who has to bring peace between the Narnians and the Telmarines, and you can’t do it like this,” Peter said, and Nimueh was glad that the coldness between the two of them had dulled somewhat. “Lady Firesong, I would like you to be one of the marshals.”

            But even after all she had said up on the platform, Nimueh could only shake her head. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I am a woman. I am not familiar with the customs of the Telmarines in recent years, but something tells me that they would see it as improper, even if they wouldn’t hesitate to kill me on the battlefield.”

            “I had hoped,” Reepicheep also stepped forward, uncharacteristically sheepish, “that I might have been sent with the challenge. Perhaps I could recommend myself as a marshal?”

            Peter looked at the large mouse with an expression of both respect and sympathy. “I’m sure that, like Lady Firesong, you would make an excellent marshal, but there are some humans who are afraid of mice. I wouldn’t want to put Miraz or any of his own marshals at a disadvantage.”

            “You are noble indeed, Your Majesty, the mirror of honour. For this, I will step back.”

            “Your Majesty, I’m a bear, I am,” said a bulgy bear from the corner of the hollow.

            “And a fine one, I’m sure,” Peter replied.

            “It was always a right of the bears to hold one place as a marshal at any contest.”

            “He’s right,” Nimueh nodded, though wrinkling her nose a little at the creature sucking his paws.

            “Look at him!” Trumpkin protested. “He’ll embarrass us all.”

            “It is your right, but you must remember not to suck your paws.” Nimueh could hear Peter trying to keep his voice stern. “If you could inform Glenstorm, I’d like he and Edmund as the second and third marshals for the contest.” Everyone in the chamber bowed their heads in agreement. “Alright then.”

            Nimueh walked tentatively over to Peter as the others left to prepare themselves. “Forgive me, Sire, but shouldn’t we make a plan, just in case it comes to the worst?”

            “I was thinking that myself. When Edmund returns, we’ll figure something out.”

            “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” But with one look at Peter’s face, Nimueh knew that no answer could please her.


	12. The Battle at Aslan's How

The cheers from both the Narnian and Telmarine soldiers could be heard from inside the how. Nimueh fiddled with every strap on Peter’s armour, making sure everything was secure. Her insecurity about her closeness to the High King had long since vanished.

            Edmund stood with them near the entrance of the how, a stern expression on his face. It reminded Nimueh of the old days, when she and the two Kings would walk into battle, side by side. Had the circumstances been different, she would have smiled at the memory.

            Before three of them walked up and out of the how, Peter stopped. “Nimueh?”

            “Yes, Peter?”

            “If-”

            “You aren’t going to die,” she said firmly.

            “How do you know that?”

            “Because if you do, Miraz will be dead before you hit the ground.”

            Peter smiled, his eyes drooping to the floor. “But that would break the deal that we’ve made with them. That would start a war.”

            “You’d better not die, then.”

            Peter continued walking and when Edmund seemed to think he was just out of earshot, he leant over to Nimueh and whispered, “D’you think the Telmarines will keep their side of the deal?”

            She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. There’s going to be a battle either way, you and I both know that.” And they followed the High King into the sunlight.

            Horns sounded as the three of the emerged from the how. The Narnians cheered and howled, thrusting their weapons into the air. As Nimueh came level with the courtyard, where the single combat would take place, she finally saw the full extent of the Telmarine army. The sight shook her to the core. Miraz’ men were far greater in numbers than the Narnians. She thought even the White Witch’s army could not have matched this. The odds were not in their favour.

            Miraz and his marshals stood with their backs to the sun, casting their faces into shadow. Though Peter wasn’t short, Miraz was taller, broader than the young King. His armour looked far heavier too, shining gold in the sunlight.

            Patting Peter’s arm one more time for luck, Nimueh moved herself a little behind one of the broken pillars and backed up towards the crowd of Narnians. Taking several deep breaths, she prepared herself for what was to come. She placed her hands on her belt, hooking her thumbs over it to stop her from unsheathing her blade, which where secured onto her back, in a moment of anxiety.

♚

The single combat could have gone better. With each strike, Nimueh had to stop herself from edging forwards. She had hurried to the courtyard when the respite had been called, though there was nothing she could have done, and that frustrated her even more.

            A wave of relief rushed over her when, at least, Miraz was on his knees, the tip of Peter’s sword to his throat. Edmund glanced around at her and she nodded knowingly. Nimueh flexed her hands and made ready to reach up and draw her swords.

            Something was said, though Nimueh couldn’t hear, and Peter stepped back and handed the sword to Caspian. She was sure that Caspian wouldn’t kill his uncle despite everything that he had done but, for a moment, Nimueh held her breath. Caspian let out a loud cry and brought the sword down into a stub of grass in front of Miraz.

            A great cheer rose from the Narnians, but Nimueh didn’t join them. Instead, she walked up to where Peter, Edmund, and Caspian came to stand under a crumbling archway at the side of the courtyard.

            “You did well,” she said to Caspian.

            “Not as well as the High King,” he replied.

            “Of course, King Peter,” she bowed her head towards him, but still did not smile. Over his shoulder, she spotted the odd way in which a Telmarine lord was embracing his king. And then, not a moment later…

            “Treason! Treachery! They shot our king back! To arms, Telmar!” The lord pulled away and Miraz fell, once again, to his knees, one of Susan’s arrows in his back.

            Knowing full well that Susan would never do such a thing, Nimueh pulled the swords from their sheaths and pushed past the three young men. Two marshals had already begun charging towards them, but the first didn’t make it further than a swords-length from Nimueh as she swung her left arm across her chest and cut his head clean off. And before she could turn to strike the second, she saw the High King’s sword buried in his chest.

            Watching as the Telmarine marshals rode back to reunite with their soldiers, Nimueh adjusted her grip on her blades. She knew that it wasn’t appropriate to be excited for a battle, where many on both sides would fall and never rise. But, in that moment, when the Telmarines began to fire hunks of rock at the mound, and she heard Edmund draw his weapon and join Peter beside her, begin to count on her left, Nimueh’s heart pounded with anticipation and bloodlust.

            “Go!” she commanded, hardly looking over her shoulder at Caspian, trusting that he would disappear into the how as they had planned in case of a break in the terms of combat.

            The White Witch’s army had been wild and fierce, but the Telmarines were another thing all together; trained, organized, and completely obedient. Nimueh knew that, if it came down to it, she wouldn’t rest until every single one of their soldiers lay dead at her feet.

            The Telmarine cavalry charged on the mound. Nimueh could feel the falls of hooves on the earth blend with those coming from beneath her. When a centaur’s horn joined the symphony of sound, Peter began to count. Hearing Susan’s cry from above as she readied the archers, Nimueh shifted her feet and set her brow. She couldn’t wait any longer.

            And then the grass in front of her fell away. The cavalry plummeted into the collapsing ground. Their ranks became chaos and as Narnian the arrows flew overhead and rained down upon then with unyielding fury, Nimueh saw a window.

            Peter raised his sword and commanded the army forwards. Nimueh didn’t so much as give him  a second look before she was barrelling towards the cave in. Every head, every hand that dared emerge above the surface was met with a sharp blade baring down upon them.

            Consumed in the battle, Nimueh was hardly aware of anything that wasn’t right in front of her. She had been afraid of the feeling she had had before, but now she was letting it take over her body, raising hell on every Telmarine soldier in her path. Yes, the White Witch had been a tyrant, but she had also been one being. The Telmarines had invaded Narnia however many years ago and had held in within their fist for far longer than the Witch had. Even now that their king was dead, they just kept coming. But they had taken enough.

            “Back to the house!” Peter’s cry carried on the wind to her ears.

            Looking up, Nimueh saw that the Telmarine army had advanced much closer to the how. She turned to the mound and scrambled back across the battlefield toward where she had spotted Peter. But before any of them could make it inside, a great hunk of rock smashed into the doorway and it collapsed. As more and more rocks attacked the mound, Susan was shaken from the platform upon which the archers and was barely caught by Trumpkin.

            Nimueh reached where Peter and Caspian had stopped. She was going to say something, but suddenly Edmund was beside her and Susan on Caspian’s other side. They turned to face the Telmarine ranks, then all looked at Peter. He glanced at Nimueh and she nodded.

            They began to run. Narnian soldiers joined them on all sides, swords and bows raised. Back across the courtyard and back into the fray. In that moment, Nimueh knew that the Telmarines didn’t stand a chance.

            Carving into the ranks, breaking their barriers, forcing their blades and arrows wherever they could fit, Narnian choked the clearing. Nimueh sliced down into the armour of each man who approached her, kicking back at those who came from behind. All of her fears of the loss and pain that she might suffer later on had vanished; all the doubts she had had were gone.

            The ground began to tremble once more, this time with something far stronger than the footfalls of man and beast. A forest of trees had circled the how and were wading through the ground, as a creature might do in water, clawing the earth with their roots and curling themselves around any Telmarine within their reach.

            “Aslan,” Nimueh breathed, but only allowed herself a moment’s pause.

            Telmarine soldiers began to retreat, as fast as their leg would carry them, back to the steadfast troupes at the edge of the clearing. But they weren’t fast enough, for as soon as a large stone came to thrash the trunk of one of the trees, Nimueh saw another bury its roots into the earth once more and burrow towards the Telmarine catapults. The act was so violent that, as the root past her, Nimueh was thrown onto her back and only just dodged the sword of a soldier who had taken advantage of her moment’s unawares.

            A hand clamped over her upper arm and she was hauled to her feet. Caspian stood, dirty-faced and breathless, staring out at the scene in front of them.

            “Thanks,” she said, patting him firmly on the shoulder.

            “Anytime.”

            “Is it over? Have they given up?”

            Caspian shook his head. “Not likely. They’ll have some sort of back up plan.”

            Sure enough, though he was still a little way off, Nimueh heard one of the Telmarine lords cry out for the army to retreat to Beruna and the soldiers began flooding out of the clearing. Nimueh glanced up at Caspian just as Peter, Susan, and Edmund appeared.

            And one final time, Peter raised his sword. “For Aslan!”

            The Narnians charged on the scurrying remnants of the Telmarine army. Anyone who fell behind, was left behind, dead. Nimueh wasn’t sure what advantage the Telmarines were expected to find at Beruna – surely the narrowness of the bridge would only cause them more harm than good – as she entered the forest, darting this way and that to avoid the stationary trees.

            But when they broke through the treeline onto the gravelly shores of Beruna, Nimueh saw that the river was rising, crashing wildly over the Telmarine soldiers who had dared step into the water. She stared across the river at the crowd that had gathered on the opposite shore.

            Queen Lucy stood next to the Great Lion, his mouth wide open and his deep roar carrying across the water to her ears. The waters began to move more violently until a great head emerged from the surface, showering everyone in droplets of water.

            Nimueh laughed aloud, much to the surprise of those around her, as the River God curled his hands underneath the bridge, which now only a single Telmarine lord and his horse were foolish enough to stand on. Closing his fists slowly and firmly, the bridge shattered and, as the water collapsed once more, both the wooden remnants and the Telmarine lord were washed away with the current.

            The Telmarine army had no choice but to surrender.


End file.
